


Christmas Lights

by MissGeorgieTate



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Christmas Eve, Festive Charm, Regret, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGeorgieTate/pseuds/MissGeorgieTate
Summary: Christmas comes to Home Farm, but Graham Foster is feeling far from festive.





	Christmas Lights

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

A heavy blanket of snow covered the Dales, coating everything in what appeared to be a thick layer of marzipan. Home Farm, set aside from the village, looked so beautifully tragic and proud that it was impossible not to stop and look at it.

Inside, the calendar on the wall of the kitchen, a marketing freebie for prospective clients was marked as December 23rd. Graham Foster barely noticed it as he wandered into the kitchen, where the chill seemed to radiate from every surface. Despite the central heating, it was still frozen.

He strolled to the coffee machine and rolled his eyes at the fact that the filter had not been changed.

In the hall a proud Norwegian spruce stood, surrounded by fake blue and silver wrapped boxes for effect. He abandoned the coffee machine and went to the fridge, finding a carton of orange juice amongst the protein shakes in flasks.

In the distance he could hear the gentle hum of the Sonos player in the lounge. Joe had a habit of leaving it on during the day and having poured himself a drink, he strode back across the hall to the lounge, where the Sonos was playing Coldplay's Christmas Lights.

He stopped to listen briefly, taking in the lyrics and was so immersed in his own memories that the door closing failed to attract his attention.

"Graham?" Joe called out, hanging his cashmere coat, scarf and gloves on the banister.

He came to stop level with the doors to the lounge and peered in.

"Graham?"

Yet the older man seemed oblivious to anything around him.

Joe approached, joining him to listen. He knew precisely why it had struck a chord with him as a memory flowed back in synchronisation with the music.

"Graham, er, this is awkward and you're welcome to say no, I mean, no pressure or anything but thing is, I'm going home for Christmas, well, my other home anyway. In New Zealand, where my aunt and cousin live." He rubbed his head nervously, "erm, I know it's probably a bit weird but, my aunt, she knows a lot about you from me and I wondered if you wanted to...come to New Zealand?"

He remembered Graham's expression. Completely blank. In the background of the staff quarters Christmas Lights was playing. Graham took a moment to listen.

"Thank you." The merest quirk of a smile appeared at his mouth. "I'd be delighted."

Graham remembered the look on the young man's face when he had accepted. Since that fateful evening when he had intended on ending it all, he found that he did not rely so heavily on the bottle.

That something else, however strange had taken its place. He had not felt that kind of warmth since being in the army. Then there had been Cheryl. Devoted to him, but at a distance, he mused. His comrades had been his family, all men together. But she had waited for his tours to finish, loyally met him at the base, one arm slipped through his. She had taken him aside to a park, sat down on a bench opposite a pond where ducks sailed about.

_"Graham," he remembered, "I know we didn't intend for this, but somehow, it has happened. I don't know what to do."_

_He saw the fear in her eyes. Her father was a priest, he would have taken a very dim view of the situation, he knew._

_Cheryl took his hand and squeezed it._

_"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I suppose..."_

_"Cheryl," Graham interrupted, "we're both responsible and we have made the decision. I will marry you."_

_"Marry? Are you sure? Graham, that's very noble of you? But, your life is here. In the Army. You love it. I can't take that away from you."_

_"You won't be."_

_"Well, thank you." Cheryl replied awkwardly. She couldn't imagine herself as Mrs Cheryl Foster, that had never been her intention, but she reasoned that she must have loved him to want to...well, he was doing the noble thing for her anyway. Ma and Pa would be happy and they wouldn't need to know about the baby. Not until a few weeks after at least._

_"If that's what you want of course," Graham retracted._

_"No, I mean; yes." She agreed, "Thank you. I love you, Graham." She placed her hand on his._

_"Yes." Was all he could manage. The music faded away._

"Graham? You okay?" a familiar voice brought him out of his memories.

"I'm fine, thank you." He gave Joe a brief look and left the room, leaving the younger man to wonder what he had done

"Graham, you know nothing's changed, don't you?"

"Yes." Graham replied, expressionless as he placed one foot on the stairs.

"Then why are you being like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Moody, distrustful?"

"I'm not in the mood to make conversation, thank you."

He began to climb the stairs.

"It's about Christmas, isn't it?" Joe asked, hands on hips, "of course it is."

"I've made peace with it." Graham replied lowly, his voice soft, "my own decision."

"Graham, I know it's difficult."

Graham turned around.

"I'll be in the office."

"So that's it? You're just going to shut yourself away, pretend that it didn't happen? "

"I've made peace with it." Graham repeated, "Thank you, Joe."

He sprinted up the steps, disappearing out of sight.

Joe rubbed his head as he often did when agitated and huffed, not knowing what to do. He went into the lounge and saw the Sonos still blinking merrily, now playing a brighter, merrier Christmas tune.

In a burst of rage, he threw a cushion at it, sending half a dozen glass trinkets to the carpet.

Fortunately they did not shatter, although they shimmered like the crisp snow outside.

His anger cooled and he picked them up one by one. A souvenir, he recalled, from China or somewhere.

All little dragons, he arranged them in a row as he had once arranged his toy cars in the nursery upstairs.

Joe liked straight lines, sharp edges. Order. It had been so difficult to live with Jean, who left her toys scattered everywhere.

He had often sat by the window at Lone View, the house in New Zealand, straightening everything out. From what he could remember the lounge had looked very similar. The fireplace had changed sides but otherwise the panelling was still in place.

He grabbed the remote and changed the playlist, opting for anything but a reminder of the past.

He had never looked forward to Christmas, not the way other children did.

From pillar to post, fraught Christmas dinners at Home Farm with Charity drinking too much in front of his dad's business associates, him banished to the nursery like some Victorian child.

No, Christmas had nothing to recommend it.

Yet Debbie had made the suggestion to spend Christmas with them. Yes, it would be cheap and tacky and definitely low rent. No fancy champagne there, unless he provided it himself.

A Dingle Christmas? What would his father have said to that?

Just the thought of them sitting around on their mismatched chairs wearing silly paper hats in lurid colours, eating cheap supermarket vegetables with home grown chicken or whatever it was. Penhaligon had prided itself on a golden crisp and crackling goose.

Yet there was a weird feeling of homeliness about the idea of a cottage, of belonging to a family. His phone buzzed and he checked it.

**Kids can't wait for tomorrow. Xx**

Debbie again. Third text in an hour.

He thought of the gifts Graham had wrapped dutifully, hidden in the dining room under the ridiculously oversized table. Still it was good for conferences.

A top of the range toy car with proper driving features for Jack, a professional make up kit for Sarah (agreed by Debbie) and for the mother herself, a car. Nothing as fancy as the Bentley, but a Golf was a Golf. It spoke for itself. She wasn’t really a Fiat 500 girl, he reasoned. A Golf was practical too, for the kids.

He had even purchased a gift for Charity on Graham's advice.

A very expensive bottle of wine from a vineyard in the South of France.

Well, he thought, Graham had actually suggested something else, but it was too tempting not to indulge in some fun.

Besides how could Charity refuse?

He hauled himself out of the armchair and went to look at the tree in the hall. Traditional, yet sophisticated, no bling here. The one in Kerry's window was an embarrassment.

It seemed that the trees that the villagers chose represented themselves. All proudly strung with lights and fancy decorations. The one in the main square of grass had had a makeover. He had spoken with the council and paid them to replace the old monstrosity with a fine Norwegian spruce like the one in the hall, his charitable contribution to the village and it meant that he didn't get showered with pine needles everytime he passed it.

Still, Debbie seemed keen to invite him along to the grand switch on. But the thought of leaving Graham alone in such a desolate mood lingered.

He knew why it was so painful for him, but he wanted to share in their usual arrangement of watching films and sharing a buffet. Some people might think it weird, but he was comfortable in it.

He adjusted one or two baubles on the branches, twirled the lights a little more and stood back to admire it. Had it been a proper family home, children would have flocked around and to it, pointing up at the decorations and lights with delight.

He knew that Debbie might expect him to invite her to spend Christmas with him at Home Farm but he couldn't. It wasn't fair on Graham.

He kicked a few of the decorative boxes into place and sighed heavily.

Something was missing. That was obvious. The lack of noise was unbearable. He thought back to New Zealand, how Jean had been so excited and spent the weeks leading up to Christmas singing at the top of her voice. He wouldn't have minded that now, he realised.

No, it would not be fair on Graham.

The ghosts of Home Farm swarmed around, taunting him with their presence, but they weren't really there. It was all inside.

The only real presence was Graham.

He left the tree and went upstairs to peer in at Graham's office, another panelled room with blue walls and practical carpet identical to the one he had at Waterhouse International. It was almost like going to the headmaster's office. He could hear the man tapping away at his usual brisk pace. Such a change from the drunken sodden wreck he had been.

"Graham," he pushed the door gently and saw the older man seated behind the glass desk with his laptop upright, a pile of papers by his arm.

"Even now," Graham sighed, leaning back, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"Sorry, I know what you said but, I just need to know that you're okay. You are okay?" He paused, "aren't you?"

There was no answer.

"Graham?" Joe prompted.

"I think you know the answer to that." Graham responded.

In the village, Debbie waited impatiently for a response to her text at Jacob's Fold. Everything was settled. For once.

"Mum, he in't gonna reply any faster if yer just keep lookin' at it." Sarah grimaced.

"No, I know that," Debbie blustered.

"We're meant to be playing a game." Sarah indicated Hungry Hippos on the table.

"Yeah, yeah." Debbie gabbled, worriedly. Somehow she was convinced that Joe was playing a game too.

"Ere, what's this I 'ear about Joe Tate sharing our Christmas dinner?" Zak demanded as he stepped into Wishing Well, a deep frown set on his face.

"Well, I just thought, yer know, wi'im and Debbie bein' back together, first Christmas together..."

"Yer not forgotten what he did, 'ere, to our 'ome?"

"No. But we can't punish 'im forever."

"What about that bloke wi'im? Yer invited 'im too?" Zak demanded.

"'Spect he'll have Christmas wi'is own family," Lisa replied,

"If he's got any." Zak commented, settling himself in his sunken old chair.

"What yer mean by that?" Lisa queried, frying some bacon in a pan, filling the house with the delicious scent.

"Well, yer can't tell me that a bloke like that would 'ang around wi' Tate if 'e didn't think there were summat in it for 'im."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. But, from what I 'ear, 'e lives wirrim."

"And?"

"Come on Lisa, I'm as broad minded as t'next man but yer can't deny that is normal."

"Abnormal." Lisa corrected.

"I know what I say. I'm tellin' yer, there's summat in it."

"Maybe." Lisa sighed dolefully and went back to frying the bacon as Zak picked up the racing paper and began to read.

Joe stayed at a distance, not wanting to invade the space, but it hurt inside to know that his right hand man and closest confidante was unhappy.

"Graham?"

"I think it would be best if you left me to work."

"Graham, what is this about? Are you angry? Upset?"

"As I said; leave me to my work."

It was hopeless.

"Fine!" Joe left the room, heading to his own to channel his frustration into some fitness exercise in the gym downstairs.

He started on the cross trainer, plugging his earbuds into his ears, training in sync to the beat, pushing himself. But he couldn't concentrate.

Fifteen minutes went by, then twenty, then half an hour.

Still no sign of Graham.

A few minutes more, he stopped to take a breather, slugging some water before moving on to the treadmill. His sportswear clung to him.

Poor Joe. He's going to work himself ill.

He plugged his ears again and began to jog, keeping the pace.

Graham closed the door quietly and approached him.

"Oh, talking to me now?" Joe sneered.

"Don't be childish."

"Im not." Joe stopped and dabbed his face and neck with a towel. "What have you to say to me?" He drawled.

"Nothing has changed."

"You don't seem convinced."

"I am." Joe smirked.

"So why did you come barging into my office?"

"Because I know you, Graham. I know you better than you think. This isn't just about Christmas. It's about the arrangements I've made."

"It's your life. You can do what you want."

"But you disapprove, don't you? Me and Debbie?"

"I just think you need to think a little more about the implications."

"Implications of what?" Joe demanded, huffing.

"The implications of being with Debbie, her family and her children."

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well, Debbie needs to be certain of her trust in you. You've hurt her once."

"Yes, but," Joe's head tilted, "she's forgiven me. Fresh start. Both of us."

"Then I'm happy for you. But, I would just ask you to consider everything else."

"Consider what?"

"Consider her family. Her children. Can you see yourself committing to raise them along side Debbie? Truly?"

Joe returns this with a puzzled look.

"Well, they're pretty much grown up anyway." He falters.

"Committing to a family is different to a single relationship."

"Well, yeah. I worked that out but the kids, they like me, well," Graham raised his eyebrows, "I'm still working on civility with Sarah."

"But are you certain that Debbie trusts you?"

"Yes! She loves me and I..." He trailed off, "I'm working on it."

"The relationships with the kids I mean."

His phone began to buzz.

"Are you going to answer that?"

Joe stared at it, the call name flashed **Debbie**

"No." Joe kept his eyes on the phone.

"It might be important, Joe."

"No. Just, leave it Graham." He turned his head away, turning his back.

"Joe, I've told you about this."

"What?" He retorted grumpily.

"Turning your back on your problems."

"So you would rather I did what I did to Debbie? All that time you spent warning me that it would all end in tears...it ended with Ross Barton getting acid chucked in his face, a broken home...do you just make it all up as you go along, hmm? Pretend you care about the situation and just play games with my life?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Graham muttered quietly, "I've only ever tried to do my best for you."

"Don't." Joe held up a hand, "you sound like my dad."

"Im sorry."

 

"Apart from anything else, Graham, why do you stick around for me if I'm such a contemptible person?"

Graham allowed the comment to linger before responding,

"You know why."

The phone buzzed again, interrupting the moment.

"God's sake!" Joe snatched his phone from the side, "Debbie?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there. No, I haven't forgotten. No, I'm looking forward to it. No, Graham is doing some stuff here. Okay, see you; bye."

He chucked the phone forcefully on the table.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Graham."

"Do you love Debbie?"

"Yes, no. I don't know." Joe  scratched his head, pushing back his hair from his forehead.

"Why don't you know, Joe?" Graham asked gently.

"God, this is so mixed up. You just have to ask questions, dig into me."

"You wanted to talk. We're talking."

"Not like this. Not," he grabbed his bottle of water and took a glug of it.

"Graham, you've been by my side since I was fifteen."

"I wanted to help you, Joe. That's all."

"I'm not complaining." Joe cut him off curtly.

"I was a messed up kid with no friends, no direction. I was obsessed with getting revenge for a dad I barely knew. Yet I'm here. You got me here," he sat down on one of the slouch chairs.

"And I'm proud of you for that."

Joe closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Graham, why is it with everyone else I self destruct and with you, I just...get on with it?"

"I can't tell you the answer to that, Joe."

"I don't want you to. That was a rhetorical question."

"We can't be apart, Graham. You live in my house, but we're not...its different to Debbie."

"What is?"

"Us, Graham! What are we?" He stood up, furiously, running a hand through his hair, "the past is the past, I get that but...I can't..."

"Joe. Stop."

Joe wiped his mouth.

"Maybe I'm just too dependent on you. Too close, side by side. But...thing is, I need you, Graham."

Graham's face was expressionless.

"Its a kind of...love...but not like...not like Debbie. Or anyone else...I guess what I'm trying to say is that..."

"Joe, you don't need to explain."

"It feels wrong to be so dependent on you."

"You're not. I owe you my life."

"Its not affection I want, Graham. Not that kind of...attachment."

"But, I need you. I need you." He huffed, smiling.

"And I need you."

They stood apart. Joe was too tense to move. It wasn't affection he wanted. It wasn't that at all. It was the stability of knowing that someone was always there, no matter what.

Graham stepped closer.

"No one has done what you have done for me."

"Im sure they have. Cheryl wanted to, I'm sure."

"I'm not talking about Cheryl? I'm talking about you."

Joe looked at him, puzzled.

"It's taken me years to admit this, Joe…”

"But you're the only person I think I could care about."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"Then..." Joe stepped closer to him, placing his hands on his shoulders, "we're okay."

Graham smiled warmly.


End file.
